


quiet please (there's a lady on stage)

by fictorium



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Human Trafficking, Reporter Kara Danvers, Sex Work, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, Undercover, female - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 10:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: Reporter Kara has gone undercover. Cat is back at CatCo. A worried Alex decides to reach out. Yes, it's the undercover as a stripper AU you didn't know you wanted.Originally a birthday present for gif whizz, @mitskiIf you have any anti-sex-work sentiments, please keep them far from here. I apologise if I've mischaracterised or misrepresented any aspects of the job here. All mistakes are mine.





	quiet please (there's a lady on stage)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mitski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitski/gifts).



“Cat?”

“Agent Scully, I presume? I won’t bother asking how you got this number.” Cat set down her glass of Scotch, pulling off her reading glasses. Being back at CatCo had its perks, but she had fallen back into her workaholic habits without realizing. 

“I need you to pull my sister off her assignment.” Alex had a refreshing way of getting right to the point. “She’s in way over her head, and she won’t listen to me.”

“Let’s see… I fired the head of Accounting this week, and I relocated everyone under 25 to a different floor… no, no record here of hiring you to run my investigative division, Agent Danvers.”

“I swear-”

“I haven’t seen Kara all week. If there was anything dangerous about her assignment, past a point she could handle with her _special skills_ , then I’m sure James Olsen would have something to say about it. Not to mention Snapper Carr. How bad can it be?”

“She’s working at The Landing Strip.”

Cat sat up straight in her chair at that news. “Tell me you mean she’s renting a kiosk and selling copies of the magazine outside. That place is more mobbed up than the credits of a Scorcese movie.” 

“There’s been a rumor about trafficking - alien and human - going through this place. She’s determined to go undercover and find out something concrete. It’s not something my department can handle, and NCPD have no leads.” A hand over the phone for a moment, muffled speech in the background. “You have to talk some sense into her. Kara listens to you.”

“I’m sure she’s being careful. You don’t give her enough credit sometimes. Besides, that rosy-cheeked naïvété will get her plenty of tips working behind the bar in a strip joint.”

“That’s just the problem,” Alex groaned. “She’s not working the bar.”

*** 

“We’re here, Ms Grant.” Antonio rolled the Mercedes to a stop in the VIP parking lot. Which was to say the part of the parking lot that wasn’t a continuous row of potholes. “You sure you got the right address?”

“Do I normally ask for opinions on where I spend my evenings, Toni?” Cat had a certain amount of fondness for the older man, who covered most of her evenings and weekends ‘to let the younger guys see their families. “I’m dipping my toe back into reporting. This is where the story is.”

“I can come in with you,” he offered, despite a replaced hip and a fondness for sugar that worried her at times. “Watch your back? It’s a shady place.”

“You’re sweet, but that’s not the kind of risk you’re paid for. Waiting out here is protection enough.”

He got out and held the door for her, and Cat dismissed his last attempt at talking sense into her with a little wave. Only when she approached the dismal doorway did she start to reconsider her bright idea. Honestly she’d barely thought at all between Alex’s call and summoning the car. The thought of Kara--sweet, innocent, cornfed Kara--in a place like this was more than even Cat’s vivid imagination could have conjured up. She’d do the same for any of her junior reporters in over their heads. Assuming she ever found out what her other junior reporters were actually working on, anyway. More listicles about 90s kids, probably.

The bouncer held the door open with a leer, one that Cat allowed because it meant not having to touch the sticky surface herself. The blast of music with its bass too high and its words barely distinguishable greeted her like a tsunami to the face. Her sensitive nose wrinkled at the potent combination of baby oil, sweat and stale cigarette smoke that had clearly outlived the smoking ban and settled into the very fabric of the place. 

Still, Cat could make herself at home anywhere in pursuit of a story. The hostess caught her eye almost right away.

"Miss Grant?" The smile was wide, genuine in a way that took Cat by surprise. Sometimes it paid to be recognized. "Well, we're classing it up a bit tonight. You follow me, I'm guessing it's VIP all the way?"

"You guess right," Cat agreed, following along like she popped in there twice a week. "Tell me you have a decent Scotch behind that bar?"

"VIPs usually get Cristal," the hostess replied, a little tetchy.

"Or some sparkling wine with a lovely Cristal label applied, I'm sure." Cat hadn't gotten to where she had by falling for any old thing. "I didn't catch your name?"

"Stacy."

Of course. "Well, Stacy," Cat continued, fishing a fifty out of her purse. "Let's call this a finder's fee. You bring me a single malt older than you, and there'll be one of those with every round, understood?" What was the point of a billion-dollar empire if she didn't throw it around every now and then?

"You got it." Stacy showed her to a seat down by the stage, set aside from the main floor by a velvet rope of all things. Not bad, but Cat glanced towards the brunette currently on stage, realizing just how damn close to the action she was. It would make it harder for Kara to ignore her at least. Assuming the terrified young woman even made it out on stage. Alex had to be mistaken about all this.

And yet. 

Cat could almost picture that determined 'oh yeah' glint in Kara's eyes at being told she'd never fit in, that she'd never pass for the kind of woman who could handle that attention. It wasn't exactly an unfair point to make, given that she covered herself up even in the height of summer, apart from those rare, dazzling days where her skirts were short and her arms were bare. Days where Cat's productivity plummeted far below the point that she'd fire anyone else for. 

The Scotch arrived a moment later, with a wink from Stacy, who had perked up considerably at her finder’s fee. Some of the men who'd bothered to look away from the gyrating dancer had registered Cat's presence, but the _thud thud thud_ of the music drowned out whatever they were calling to her. The whistles just about carried. With decades of practice in tuning out irrelevant men, she ignored them. Rustling through her purse she checked the stash of bills she'd picked out of her safe. Carrying cash was a rarity, but she'd need at least one bill to wave at Kara in the hopes of getting her attention.

The brunette departed to a smattering of applause, left in only her heels. Her g-string arced up and over her shoulder as she strutted away, landing on the head of a guy two tables back. Cat had to admire the precision, if nothing else. She bided her time through a redhead and a bottle blonde with roots complex enough to get the team from Who Do You Think You Are? excited, and Stacy was quick to bring another glass the moment Cat's first drink was drained. 

Finally, the music took a break before tipping into migraine territory. Cat checked her phone, the usual flurry of email and other notifications staring up at her with their baleful red circles. She'd given up on inbox zero some time back in the noughties, but she fired off a few replies to employees who clearly thought they’d get away with bad ideas until morning. Not on her watch. Slipping the phone away, Cat considered her surroundings in more detail, the quieter muzak that played between sets was some 80s song that she couldn’t quite place, but she hummed along all the same.

Perhaps she'd overstepped by coming down here. She could lecture Kara in the morning, find out the depth of her involvement and assign someone to keep an eye on her. Maybe someone from the vice squad could be tipped off sooner, leave the investigating to the police instead of the unofficial flying superhero division. 

Not that Cat was supposed to know about that. Supergirl being outed as a stripper would be a fresh set of problems far removed from anything Kara the reporter might get herself into. Lost in her decision-making, Cat didn't expect the hand on her shoulder, and she jumped.

"Cat Grant, as I live and breathe."

"Max Lord. This isn't even close to the last place I expected to find you. Not that I've been looking."

"I'm taking a sabbatical," he explained. "Last I heard, you were too."

"I'm back," she explained, realizing that his presence risked outing Kara far more than her own. "You look like you've been here since the breakfast buffet. That stubble would be rugged, if it weren't about as patchy as your record on ethical testing."

"You wound me." Put his hands over his heart, mocking her. "I'm on my way out. Places to go, ladies to see. You should be careful where you make your pit stops. The owner here is a good friend of mine, and he likes a little insurance on his regulars. You might be getting a personal visit at your table here."

"Let him," Cat answered with a shrug. 

"Oh no, not a him." Max nodded towards a door in back, presumably some kind of office. A tall woman in a red dress stood in the open doorway, angrily instructing Stacy the hostess to do something. Cat raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "That's Veronica. She runs a tight ship."

"Fascinating. Anyway Maxwell, I'm sure your ladies are waiting."

"I'll see you around, Cat."

"Only if I’m very unlucky." She took a sip of her drink, and watched him go. He paused only to kiss the ring with that Veronica woman, who looked thoroughly bored by his interruption. Cat was so intent on observing their interaction that she almost didn't notice the music pick back up to a more throbbing volume. The muffled PA system gave an announcement that “our new girl, Keira” would be up next, and Cat sat up straight in her chair.

The generic dance track gave way to some kind of Little Harmony - or whatever the hell they were called - song, and she groaned. Of course Kara would pick something that cheesy. Of course she would. Cat barely dared look at the stage. She could hear the whooping and hollering from the cheap seats as the lights swirled and dipped, some automated process that she'd never allow near a CatCo lighting rig, flattering to almost no one with the garish blues and reds, and a spotlight that could guide even the Titanic safely to shore.

When a leggy blonde in an American flag bikini and knee-high boots came strutting down the short catwalk, Cat’s initial reaction was that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Kara hadn’t been silly enough to use a name so close to her own after all. There was no way that confident girl with mile-long legs was the same assistant who zipped around CatCo in cardigans and gingham. Sure the long, straight hair was almost the right shade of honey blonde, but the blue streaks were wildly different to any of the chignons and ponytails Kara had ever tried.

Then she made a sharp turn in Cat’s direction and _dear god_ how could she ever have thought it was anyone else? Much like a pair of glasses and a top knot couldn’t hide the jawline of steel, there was no makeup on this or any other planet that can dilute the impact of Kara’s blue eyes. 

Admittedly, the dancing wasn’t entirely on the beat, but Cat doubted that musical ability was the first checkbox on the application form. Kara kept more or less in time, and the routine so far hadn’t amounted to much more than plenty of strutting, pointing and dramatic hair flicking. She hadn’t so much as glanced at the pole that dominated center stage.

The rest of the crowd had perked up a little, with some chairs scraping in closer, the noise of it lost to the pounding bass. Despite her attempts to play it cool, Cat felt herself leaning forward before she could stop it. 

Kara clearly had based her entire routine on something straight out of that damn Demi Moore movie, but for a less than sophisticated audience, it was working. It helped that she looked like something fresh from the pages of Sports Illustrated, a faint sheen of lotion--fuck, surely not _oil_ \--and glitter in the right places suggested a real professional had been helping kit her out. 

Then, unlike the other girl, Kara ignored the pole that she could probably have bent with her pinky, and took the few steps down onto the main floor, tottering in her ridiculous heels. Even her advantages over gravity didn’t make the walk any more graceful. It looked careless, so much so that Cat almost charged over to drag Kara out of the damn place, but then it became apparent that although the dancing brought Kara closer to the leering men, she never lingered for more than the requisite stuffing of cash into the scraps of clothing she wore. 

Cat knew she could probably still bolt. She’d picked the side of the stage least illuminated, and Kara hadn’t spotted her yet. Probably because she wouldn’t be expecting to find her boss in such a dive, but time was ticking away. Sure enough, Kara made her turn and froze on seeing Cat at a table all by herself. 

Only the shouts from behind her seemed to get Kara moving again. Faced with the baying crowd or the CEO of CatCo, it would seem there was no choice. She sashayed closer, clearly not expecting Cat to behave like the other patrons. In short, Kara was doing everything short of screaming ‘I’m a journalist!’ to blow her cover. It fell to Cat to maintain it for her. To keep the girl safe. 

She beckoned Kara closer, and as she made the last few steps, she picked up the rhythm of the godawful pop song again. The music choice, if this harebrained scheme persisted, would be the first change.

“Ms. Grant?” Kara mouthed when she was close enough that no one else could see. Cat almost answered “Supergirl?” out of spite, but Kara had already been thrown off her game enough for one night. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking in a show.” Cat set her drink down and peeled a twenty from the roll in her pocket. Giving it a sharp fold, she leaned in to tuck it in the string waistband of Kara’s bikini bottoms. Mistake number one, because one touch of that dewy skin and Cat wanted to empty an offshore account just to have an excuse to do that again. “I see the men here stick with singles. How predictable.”

She’d started with a twenty. There were plenty still to go, not to mention the fifties and hundreds.

“I can’t stay,” Kara said as the song approached some kind of crescendo. She was barely moving now, just enough to still qualify as dancing. She touched her hipbone where Cat’s nails had briefly grazed. “The boss says anything more than thirty seconds is a private dance.”

“Kara, wait--” But she’s gone, a little too quickly. Clambering back on stage with a final, almost ceremonial spin around the pole. The lights barely dim this time before the next track kicks in, and when they can see the girl on stage once more, it’s someone entirely different. 

Fuck. 

***

The Landing Strip had the good sense to put their ‘stage door’ in a nondescript location on the side of the building next door, which looks empty from the outside. The only traffic from the front and back doors of the bar was made up of men, while the women slipped out unseen, in ones and twos. Some were hastily covered with coats or oversized jackets, only out for a cigarette or a private place to talk. 

Eventually Kara came out--alone, which made it easier--letting Antonio start the car and Cat roll her window down on the quiet approach. 

“In. Now,” she barked. “If anyone sees you, it’ll look like you’re picking up some extras, so don’t argue.”

Looking like she was going to argue anyway, Kara put her hands on her hips. Then the exit door swung open again, and in her haste not to be seen she simply grabbed the door on Cat’s side and bundled herself into the backseat, clambering across Cat’s lap to do it.

“Sorry,” Kara muttered as she folded those long legs into a sitting position beside Cat. She smelled like a Malibu cocktail: a mix of tanning oil and fruity bodyspray. It should have been noxious, but on Kara it’s almost sweet. Dressing for the journey home doesn’t seem to have required much more coverage than the club itself. Kara had pulled a tight, short dress on, and the denim jacket was cropped. Since she was still in killer heels, Cat had to assume she was planning on flying home, because there’s no way a sane person could walk it in those. “Who told?”

“Who told me what? That you’re stripping? For the love of god, tell me it’s actually for a story and not a one-woman protest about the salary scale at CatCo.”

“It would be nice if we got dental,” Kara said huffily, though she’s probably incapable of getting a cavity. “And yes, it’s for a story. Not to mention getting some women out of a really bad situation.”

“Kara, our job isn’t to moralize. If you’re just trying to save them from working a pole, that’s not your place.”

“I know! God, I’m not some kind of SWERF.” Kara looked appropriately offended. “I’m talking about no agency, kidnapped from other… places kind of situations. People who do need saving, and the scumbags taking them need to be brought to justice.”

“Why not call in NCPD if you know there’s trafficking?” Cat had been preparing this list of questions all evening, but already the thrill of the debate was coursing in her veins.

“I tried,” Kara said, folding her arms over her stomach. “They say without evidence they can’t get a warrant. I’m not burning my source either, and I know you’d never ask me to.”

“Do I need to tell you what you’re doing is dangerous?”

“Was it dangerous when you went undercover to expose corrupt vice cops in Metropolis? Or when you got death threats for those stories on drug running?”

“That was different,” Cat tried to insist, but her heart wasn’t in it. All she saw radiating back at her was the same enthusiasm that got her into this game, and her name on a bunch of buildings. She was almost a little jealous. It was the same spirit she’d been hoping to recapture by diving these past few months. Instead, she was back where she started, only now Cat was unmoored without Kara at her side. 

“Are you going to forbid me to pursue the story? Because James already tried that. I had to point out that now you’re back he’s not my boss anymore.”

“What if I did?” Cat ran a fingertip over a seam in the leather between them. “What then?”

“Then…” Kara floundered for a moment. She had her glasses back on, Cat realized later than she should have. “Then I’ll quit. Write it as a freelancer. Someone will take the pitch.”

Well. That was an unexpected display of resolve. Cat had to hand it to the girl; Kara was hitting all the right notes on this one. 

“Your sister is very concerned.”

“She called you? Wait, tell me she didn’t show up with her… and threaten you?”

“No, Kara,” Cat reassured. “But even Supergirl’s big sister has to have some reservations, surely?” She was grateful she had put the privacy screen up before deciding to say it that way.

“You… but… and I…”

“Breathe.” As always, Kara followed the command. “You keep your job, I keep your secret. It’s possible I acted rashly last time. Not that you’ll hear me say that ever again, so enjoy the moment while it lasts.”

Kara stared for a moment then nodded, accepting the bargain. 

“I’m getting somewhere already, I promise. The girls, a lot of them just want someone to talk to. I think the woman running things approves of my… look, or whatever. She said blondes make more money, and I guess she didn’t just mean on stage.”

“Did you know Lord is sniffing around her?”

“No, but it might explain how she’s able to move on aliens that shouldn’t be easily contained.” Kara put the pieces of the puzzle together quickly. Cat wished she didn’t like that quite so much. “I’ll start digging into any LordTech ties when I get home.”

“You’re excused from the office for the duration,” Cat decided. “No, no, I’m not firing or suspending you. Saving you from having to work two jobs. Three, if you count the cape. Even superheroes need sleep, yes?”

“I guess so,” Kara admitted, leaning back against the seat properly for the first time. She looked exhausted, beneath the traces of highlighter and glitter on those perfect cheekbones. “I can get out here, it’s not far.”

Cat pressed the button so Antonio could hear her. “Take us to Ms. Danvers’ apartment first, please.” She never did like being told what to do. 

“You have to be careful,” Cat said softly, looking out of her window rather than at Kara. “I know the dangers you’ve faced, but Lord has had the jump on you once or twice before. If anything happened to you I’d…”

They let the silence drag out for a moment or two.

“Well, I’d probably get sued. And I don’t feel like buying your foster family a new house just because you got yourself trafficked. Understood?”

It was a flimsy cover, judging by the broad and lazy smile on Kara’s face. “I knew you’d get it,” she muttered. “Once a reporter, always a reporter.”

“I’ll be part of your cover,” Cat decided. “Coming in once would be suspicious, especially since I bumped into Max. I’ll come down now and then, talk to the other girls if I can. Cash might get answers that bit quicker, or I might get an offer to buy into something shady if they get bold.”

“No, you don’t have to,” Kara protested. “You… you already saw me making a fool of myself up there.”

“You’re no Gypsy Rose Lee, I’ll admit.” Looking back at Kara, Cat saw that the girl still had her eyes closed, the fight gone out of her for the day. “But you weren’t terrible. I won’t ask for my twenty back, put it that way.”

Kara cracked one eye open, suspicious. When Cat stared her down, the statement was accepted. The car was getting close to Kara’s, judging by the way they’re slowing down. 

“Thanks,” Kara said, and Cat wasn’t sure quite how much that was supposed to cover.

“You’re welcome.” Cat watched as Kara opens the door, unfolding herself onto the sidewalk in those heels. “Be safe, Supergirl.” It was barely a whisper, but Kara heard it. 

Cat rolled the privacy screen down as the door shuts, meeting Antonio’s eye. He clearly recognizes Kara, she’s been in the car with Cat often enough. “Don’t ask,” she pleaded. “And take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Dusty Springfield song of the same name.


End file.
